How many does it take before you find your Prince?

Teach me your tantric ways!

Well this Easter has certainly been a weekend of firsts for me! I officially became a groupie, bedded myself a divorcee, (or is it pronounced divorce-ay? Who knows it’s all way too grown up for me.) dipped my toe into the blessed waters of tantric spirituality and swallowed for the first time in years! So is that enough to keep you interested for the next few paragraphs? Here’s hoping 😉

So, I’ll start off where these things normally begin, Tinder. Ah Tinder, the source of all my disastrous attempts at love and lust. I would quit but then where would I find men? We all know after last weekend’s dangly debacle how bad picking up at clubs can be. (Shudder)

Anyways, I thought I had found myself a good one. He was a little older than my usual conquests (thirty one) but I figured that would just mean he had his shit together, right? I did hesitate when I saw he had a kid. I am definitely in no position to become some instant baby mama, so I baulked at meeting him the first few times. But then I decided to grow some balls and just get on with it. How bad could it be? It wasn’t as if he was going to arrive at the date, bottle in one hand, screaming child in the other.

Or at least I hoped not.

Which is why I agreed to meet him at one of his gigs. (Did I mention he played bass in a band?) I dragged Will and Rob along for company and moral support. If anyone could give me an honest opinion about a potential man companion, it was these two.

We walked into the empty establishment and got stamped by a surly door bitch, before being waved to the bar dismissively. I looked around furtively for my bass player, trying to spot him before he saw me. The fact that there were only three other people in the place kind of made it hard to hide.

We grabbed a few beers and snagged a booth a way back from the stage. There were some people doing a sound check on and I scanned their faces, searching for the illusive bassist.

And then I spotted him! He came striding in from a room near the back of the place, his black jeans hugging his thighs as we walked. I breathed a sigh of relief. No skinny leg jeans.

Thank god! There is nothing more off putting than a guy in tighter pants than me. Where’s the excitement, the allure, when I can see not only his peas and carrot, but the exact amount of change he’s carrying in his back pocket?

Urgh.

Luckily for me, old bassey was wearing a comfortable boot-leg cut that suited his frame nicely.

I chugged the rest of my beer in the attempt to gain a little courage. After all, he had no idea I was coming, as he’d sent out a group message to all his Tinder bitches to swell the crowd for the show. Looking around though I could tell there wouldn’t be much competition unless he was into saucy long-haired biker dudes.

After a few words of encouragement from the boys I stirred my stumps and went to meet him as he walked to the bar, his long strides eating up the distance quicker than I imagined.

I took a deep breath and tapped him on the shoulder shyly. He turned and looked at me blankly for a moment. I grinned nervously and introduced myself, relieved when my name struck a chord and he pulled me into a hug.

Phew! So it was the right guy after all!

His name was Tim and he seemed nice enough. We chatted awkwardly for a few moments but I could tell he was pretty nervous about playing so I didn’t stick around for very long. I wished him quick good luck and retreated back to the safety of my booth.

After filling in the boys on the exchange (I was very awkward and most of my sentences would end with, “ah good times.”) we sat and watched the show.

They were actually really good, although Will had a complaint that Tim wasn’t jumping around enough, which I relayed to him later.

Once they came off stage Tim stayed away for a while and I thought maybe that was it. Maybe he wasn’t keen? I was ok with that, if it didn’t happen it didn’t happen and had already told myself I was definitely not going home with anyone. This was an open house inspection only, no bids accepted.

Finally though, well into the next bands set, Tim slid himself into the booth next to me. We attempted to chat but considering the heavy rock that was pulsing through the place it was proving difficult without spraying each other with spit.

Hot.

So we popped outside for some ‘air’ and that’s when I learned I had unwittingly found myself a kindred spirit. Tim was just as into sex as I was! He had even attended the much anticipated sex camp three years in a row. I had wanted to go this year but sadly fundulation was at an all time low. (For anyone not in the know this particular sex camp was three days in the wilderness, back to back seminars on kissing, bondage, tantric sex and any other sexual seduction under the sun! And then you get to go back to your tents and test it all out.)

I bombarded him with questions. What was it like? What type of crowd was it? What was the craziest thing you did? Turns out the weirdest thing he did was get wrapped up head to toe in glad wrap and have his nipples sucked and bitten by hordes of horny women.

Yep, that’ll do it.

I was fascinated. The time simply flew by as I probed him for more information. Sadly he wanted to go back in and listen to the bands. (Urgh, how boring when we could be talking about the most exciting topic ever.) So we headed back inside and he dragged me to the front of the stage. There were only about fifteen people on the dance-floor so it wasn’t exactly a raging mosh pit, but Tim was adamant we dance.

But how do you dance to hard rock?

I went to my back up dance. Jump up and down and repeat as necessary or until knees give out and crumple underneath you. I looked over at Tim and had to stop myself from laughing.

I am certainly not the best dancer in the world, but Tim was channeling Midnight Oil all the way. I wanted to request Beds are Burning and really see him come into his own, but with a substantial effort I controlled myself.

When I reached the knee giving out stage I left Tim to fan-girl over his favourite band and I sank back down into the booth.

Will grinned at me lopsidedly and asked if we’d kissed yet. I told him that no we’d been talking too much and he was busy dancing. But as soon as he asked me I suddenly knew that that was exactly what I wanted to do. I didn’t want it to be any old kiss though, I wanted it to be different.

Luckily I happened to have some Pleasure Balm in my bag (because a girl never knows when she’ll be needing it.) so I whipped it out and coated my lips with it. It’s tangy peppermint burn began to take effect immediately. I pranced over to Tim and grabbed his face, smearing his lips before crushing his face to mine.

Very nice I must say.

We swayed to the pounding music as our tongues darted in and out of each others mouths, playing the sexiest version of kiss chasey there is. The pleasure balm tingled erotically as our lips pressed together tightly and released, each time getting more intense.

I broke away before I ripped off his pants and swaggered back to my seat, pocketing my secret weapon and throwing a wink to the boys as I did.

When the music finished Tim was back next to me. (drinking my beer actually, slightly annoying.) We started talking about Tantric sex and I told him how much I was dying to do a few seminars and courses.

And that’s when the trap was set.

He smiled and said he had learnt quite a lot on the subject during his years sex camp.

And he would be willing to teach me if I went home with him.

Squee! Yes please!

Er, no, I mean no, definitely not, my brain screamed at me. But of course it was too late. My brain was no match for my thunderous loins, who had already begun singing Gregorian monk chants in preparation for the tantric goodness that was to come.

I finished my drink in a gulp and with a wave at the boys and the promise to text them asap to assure them I hadn’t been murdered we were off.

Tim had a car so there was no waiting in the freezing cold for a tram. I was liking this guy more and more. His cd player clicked into action and I braced myself for some awful grunge crap, but instead the soulful sounds of The Police came wafting through the speakers. He even let me pick the songs I wanted to listen to.

Big points there.

We reached his house in no time and after a quick tour of the place we were in the bedroom.

Tim pushed me onto the bed and we picked up where we left off, sucking face like dehydration was a real issue. Seriously I think the boy swallowed about a litre of my spit, he had such a vacuum going! After about ten minutes of this his hands started wandering. I thought to myself, hang on, if I wanted this I could have gone home with the bloody drummer, where’s my tantric lesson!

So I slapped his hands away and demanded that he teach me some of the good stuff. He nodded obediently and turned off the light before turning on his bedside lamp, which was one of those weird rock lamps they sell at shops along with incense and sarongs.

We sat across from each other and Tim instructed me to place my hand on his chest. I did so as he did the same to me. Then we stared into each others eyes for about two minutes. I know it sounds lame or boring but it was actually quite nice. When you know you’re about to jump on someone and make them scream it’s soothing to take a break and just breathe. Plus it builds up some epic sexual tension. Then he got me to lay on my stomach while he performed a ‘five elements massage’ which is basically a very creative masseuse coming up with earthly names for someone scratching your back. Air was him blowing on my back, then fire was said scratching, Earth was pressing down hard with both hands and for the life of me I can’t remember the last two. I think the first three had made me kind of sleepy.

Which is when Tim suggested a Yoni massage. My ears pricked up as my brain struggled to remember where I had read about Yoni. And then when he duck dived downstairs it all came back to me. Of course! Yoni was the tantric word for the old sticky purse.

I lay there and let him commence his ministrations before yanking him up to me by the hair (gently of course, I’m not a total dom or anything ;))

He slipped on a condom (blueberry flavoured ooh!) and we commenced the stage I like to call fucking.

And it was good.

Mostly.

Tim was a big boy but what made him different was his curve. I’ve never minded a bit of a bend in my banger but it can make it a little harder for me to come. However, because Tim was so large, some positions were almost impossible for me. For instance when he flipped me over to doggy I had to stop after only a few minutes. Good god, it was like he was scraping my backbone with that thing!

We made it work however, and it was most pleasing.

There was one thing though. Tim was very vocal. I don’t just mean the usual “ooh yeah’s” and “oh baby’s” no no, this was intense. It seemed that he made a noise on almost every breath out. It was like he was panting or something. But moaning. But also talking. You get the idea? Very… appreciative yes, but also quite distracting!

Eventually though the moaning reached a peak and he was on the cusp of orgasm.

“I wanna come in your mouth.” He breathed.

Aw man, why? I thought. I really wasn’t in the mood for a smoothy but he’d already slipped of the condom and the yogurt slinger was coming towards me at a rate of knots. It was either the mouth or he’d probably miss and get me in the eye, and we all know how much that hurts. So I took it like a man and opened my mouth for him.

You may be thinking, Claire, you love all things sex, why on Earth aren’t you into swallowing? Well dear reader, I was, I very much was. Until disaster struck. Something that was impossible to come back from. So me swallowing Tim’s spunk was quite the step forward.

What’s that I hear? You’d like to hear what terrible awful made me a spitter? Well Lovers, you’ll just have to wait until next time.

I’ll tell you all about it and also the morning after with Tim the bassist 😉